CORNER OF A STAGE COACH
'Miss Hazel!--Dear Miss Hazel!--Dear _me_, Miss Hazel!--here's the
morning, ma'am,--and Gotham, and Mr. Falkirk!'
So far the young eyes unclosed as to see that they could see
nothing--unless the flame of a wind-tossed candle,--then with a
disapproving frown they closed again.
'But Miss Hazel?' remonstrated Mrs. Saddler.
'Well?' said Wych Hazel with closed eyes.
'Mr. Falkirk's dressed, ma'am.'
'What is it to me if Mr. Falkirk chooses to get up over
night?'
'But the stage, ma'am!'
'The stage can wait.'
'The stage won't, Miss Hazel,' said Mrs. Saddler, earnestly.
'And Gotham says it's only a question of time whether we can
catch it now.'
Something in these last words had an arousing power, for the
girl laughed out.
'Mrs. Saddler, how _can_ one wake up, with the certainty of
seeing a tallow candle?'
'Dear me,' said Mrs. Saddler hurrying to light two tall
sperms, 'if _that's_ all, Miss Hazel--'
'That's not all. What's the matter with Mr. Falkirk this
morning?'
'Why nothing, ma'am. Only he said you wanted to take the first
stage to Chickaree.'
'Which I didn't, and don't.'
'And Gotham says,' pursued Mrs. Saddler, 'that if it is the
first, ma'am, we'll save a day to get to Chickaree on
Thursday.'
Whereupon, Wych Hazel sprung at once into a state of physical
and mental action which nearly blew Mrs. Saddler away.
'Look,' she said, tossing the curls over her comb,--'there's my
new travelling dress on the chair.'
'Another new travelling dress!' said Mrs. Saddler with
upraised hands.
'And the hat ribbands match,' said Wych Hazel, 'and the
gloves. And the veil is a shade lighter. Everything matches
everything, and everything matches me. You never saw my match
before, did you Mrs. Saddler?'
'Dear me! Miss Hazel,' said the good woman again. 'You do talk
so wonderful!'
It was splendid to see her look of dismay, and amusement, and
admiration, all in one, and to catch a glimpse of the other
face--fun and mischief and beauty, all in one too! To put on
the new dress, to fit on the new gloves,--Wych Hazel went down
to Mr. Falkirk in admirable spirits.
Mr. Falkirk looked gloomy. As indeed anything might, in that
hall; with the front door standing open, and one lamp burning
till day should come; and the chill air streaming in. Mr.
Falkirk paced up and down with the air of a man prepared for
the worst. He shook Wych Hazel grimly by the hand, and she
laughed out,
'How charming it is, sir? But where's breakfast?'
'Breakfast, Miss Hazel,' said her guardian solemnly, 'is
never, so far as I can learn, taken by people setting out to
seek their fortune. It is generally supposed that such people
rarely have breakfast at all.'
'Very well, sir,--I am ready,'--and in another minute they were
on their way, passing through the street of the little
village, and then out on the open road, until after a half-
hour's drive they entered another small settlement and drew up
before its chief inn. Bustle enough here,--lamps in the hall
and on the steps; lamps in the parlours; lamps running up and
down the yards and road and dimly disclosing the outlines of a
thorough bred stage coach and four horses, with the various
figures pertaining thereto. Steadily the dawn came creeping
up; the morning air--raw and damp--floated off the horses'
tails, and flickered the lights, and even handled Wych Hazel's
new veil. I think nothing but the new travelling dress kept
her from shivering, as they went up the inn steps. People
seeking their fortunes may at least _want_ their breakfast.
But Mr. Falkirk was perverse. As they entered the hall, a
waiter threw open the door into the long breakfast room--
delicious with its fire and lights and coffee--(neither did the
voices sound ill), but Mr. Falkirk stopped short.
'Is that the only fire you've got? I want breakfast in a
private room.'
Now Mr. Falkirk's tone was sometimes one that nobody would
think of answering in words,--of course, the waiter could do
nothing but wheel about and open another door next to the
first.
'Ah!' Mr. Falkirk said with immense satisfaction, as they
stepped in.
'Ah!'--repeated his ward rather mockingly. 'Mr. Falkirk, this
room is cold.'
Mr. Falkirk took the poker and gave the fire such a punch that
it must have blazed uninterruptedly for half a day after.
'Cold, my dear?' he said beamingly--'no one can be cold long
before such a fire as that. And breakfast will be here in a
moment. If it comes before I get back, don't wait for me. How
well your dress looks!'
'And I?--Mr. Falkirk,' said Wych Hazel.
'Why that's a matter of taste, my dear, of course. Some people
you know are partial to black eyes--which yours are not. Others
again--Ah, here is breakfast,--Now my dear, eat as much as you
can,--you know we may not have any breakfast to-morrow. On a
search after fortune, you never can tell.'
And helping her to an extraordinary quantity of everything on
the tray, Mr. Falkirk at once went off and left her to dispose
of it all alone. And of course he went straight into the next
room. Didn't she know he would?--and didn't she hear the duo
that greeted him?--'What, Mr. Falkirk!'--'Sir, your most
obedient!'--and her guardian's double reply--'Back again, eh?'--
and 'Your most obedient, Mr. Kingsland.' Wych Hazel felt
provoked enough not to eat another mouthful. Then up came the
stage, rumbling along to the front door; and as it came, in
rushed Mr. Falkirk, poured out a cup of scalding coffee and
swallowed it without a moment's hesitation.
'Coach, sir!' said the waiter opening the door.
'Coach, my dear?' repeated her guardian, taking her arm and
whisking her down the hall and into the stage, before the
passengers in the long room could have laid down their knives.
'What is the use of being in such a hurry, Mr. Falkirk?' she
said at last; much tried at being tossed gently into the stage
like a brown parcel--(which to be sure she was, but that made
no difference).
'My dear,' said Mr. Falkirk, solemnly, "there is a tide in the
affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to
fortune.' "
And with that he drew off his glove, leaned back, and passed
his hand over his brow with the air of a man who had in some
shape achieved success.
By this time the stream of passengers began to pour forth; and
the coach creaked and swung to and fro, as trunk after trunk
and man after man found their way up to the roof. Then the
door was flung open, and other passengers tumbled in, the
lantern flashing dimly upon their faces and coats. Three and
three more,--and another, but his progress was stayed.
'Not in here, sir,' said Mr. Falkirk politely, 'I have paid
for three seats.'
'There ain't another seat,' says the driver,--'and he ain't a
big man, sir--guess maybe you'll let him have a corner--we'll
make it all right, sir.' He had a corner,--and so did our
heroine! The new dress! Never mind; the sooner this went the
sooner she would get another. And they rolled off, sweetly and
silently, upon the country road. The morning was lovely. Light
scarfs of fog floated about the mountain tops, light veils of
cloud just mystified the sky; the tree-tops glittered with
dew, the birds flew in and out; and through an open corner of
her leathern curtain Wych Hazel peered out, gazing at the new
world wherein she was going to seek her fortune.
'Spend the Summer at Chickaree, Mr. Falkirk?' said a voice
from the further end of the coach. Wych Hazel drew in her head
and her attention, and sat back to listen.
'I did not say I was going there,' said her guardian dryly.
'Two and two make four, my good sir. There's not even a sign
of a place of entertainment between Stone Bridge and Crocus,
and Stone Bridge you have confessed to.'
'You consider places of entertainment among the essentials
then?'
'Why, in some cases,' said the gentleman, with a suspicious
glance at Wych Hazel's brown veil.
'How long is it since you were there, Mr. Falkirk?' inquired
Mr. Kingsland's next neighbour.
The speaker was a younger man than Mr. Kingsland, and whereas
that gentleman was a dandy, this one's dress was just one
remove from that, and therefore faultless. About his face, so
far off as the other end of the stage, there seemed nothing
remarkable; it was grave, rather concise in its indications;
but the voice prepared you for what a smile declared,--a nature
joyous and unembittered; a spirit pure and honest and keen.
Even Wych Hazel's guardian softened at his look.
'Pray, Mr. Falkirk?' said the other stranger, 'what is
supposed to be the origin of the word "veil"?'
'I never heard,' said Mr. Falkirk dryly. 'Lost in the early
records of civilization.'
'My dear sir!--of Barbarism!'
'Civilization has never entirely got rid of barbarism, I
believe,' said Mr. Falkirk between his teeth; then out, 'By
what road are you going, Rollo?'
'I should be happy to act as guide, sir. I leave the direct
route.'
'Mr. Falkirk,' said Wych Hazel, 'just put your head a little
this way, and see the veil of mist thrown over the top of that
hill.'
Mr. Falkirk looked hastily, and resumed: 'You have lately
returned, I hear, from your long foreign stay?'
'It was time.'
'Mr. Falkirk,' said his ward, 'do you consider _that_ a remnant
of the dark ages?'
'It keeps its place too gracefully for that,' said her
guardian dropping his voice, as he looked across Wych Hazel
out of the coach window.
'Mr. Falkirk' (sotto voce), 'you are charming!--Between
ourselves, this is a hard place to keep gracefully. Please
take out your watch, sir.'
Which Mr. Falkirk did, and silently showed it. Forth to meet
his came a little gold hunting watch from behind the brown
veil.
'You are a minute slow, sir--as usual.' Then very softly,--'Mr.
Falkirk, what with being pressed and repressed, I am dying by
quarter inches! Just introduce me for your grandmother, will
you, and I will matronize the party.'
A request Mr. Falkirk complied with by entering forthwith into
a long business discussion with another occupant of the stage
coach, also known to him; in which stocks, commercial
regulations, political enterprises, and the relative bearings
of the same, precluded all reference to anything else
whatever. Nobody's grandmother could have had less (visible)
attention than Miss Hazel, up to the time when the coach
rolled up to the door of a wayside inn, and the party got out
to a luncheon or early dinner, as some of them would have
called it. Then indeed she had enough. Mr. Falkirk handed her
out and handed her in; straight to the gay carpeted "Ladies'
room;" shut the door carefully, and asked her what she would
have. No other lady was there to dispute possession.
'Only a broiled chicken, sir--and a soufflé--and potatoes à la
crême au gratin,' said Miss Hazel, throwing off her bonnet and
curling herself down on the arm of the sofa. 'Mr. Falkirk, all
my previous acquaintance with cushions was superficial!--And
could you just open the window, sir, and throw back the
blinds? last November is in this room, apples and all.'
Mr. Falkirk obeyed directions, remarking that people who
travel in search of their fortune must expect to meet with
November in unexpected places; and then went off into the
general eating-room, and by and by, from there or some other
insalubrious region came a servant, with half of an
imperfectly broiled fowl and muddy dish of coffee, flanked by
a watery pickled cucumbers. Mr. Falkirk himself presently
returned.
'How does it go?' he said.
'What, Mr. Falkirk?' the young lady was curled down in one
corner of the sofa, much like a kitten; a small specimen of
which animal purred complacently on her shoulder.
'Could you eat, Miss Hazel?'
'Truly, sir, I could. Mr. Falkirk--what a lovely kitten! Do you
remark her length of tail?'
Mr. Falkirk thought he had heard of "puss in boots" before,
but never had the full realization thereof till now.
'You have tasted nothing,' he said. 'What shall I get you? We
shall be off in a few minutes, and you will not have another
chance till we reach Hadyn's Dam.'
'Thank you, sir. A few minutes of undisturbed repose--with the
removal of those cucumbers--and the restoration of that chicken
to its other and I hope better half, is all that I require.'
'You will have rest at Hadyn's Dam,' said Mr. Falkirk with a
face more expressive than his words.--'The bridge there is
broken.'
'Queer place to rest, sir! Mr. Falkirk--there is Mr. Kingsland
wondering why you keep me here.'
'He's eating his dinner.'
'Is he? I am afraid there will be crumbs in the piazza,' said
Wych Hazel, closing her eyes. 'He says he don't wonder you are
kept.'
'What shall I get you, Wych? You cannot go from here to the
next stopping place without anything,' Mr. Falkirk said
kindly.
'If you could find me, sir, a basket that would just hold this
kitten'--
Mr. Falkirk wasted no more words, but went off, and came back
with a glass of milk and a plate of doubtful 'chunks' of cake.
The room was empty. Bonnet and veil were gone, and even the
kitten had disappeared. Meanwhile the stage coach rattled and
swung up to the piazza steps, where were presently gathered
the various travellers, one by one. 'Mr. Falkirk,' said Mr.
Kingsland, as that gentleman came out rather hastily to see if
his charge might be there, too, 'you are not surely--agoing on
alone?'
Back went Mr. Falkirk into the house again to look for his
missing ward, who had plainly been foraging. On the table was
a paper of crackers; two blue-eyed and blue-aproned youngsters
stood watching every motion as she swallowed the glass of
milk, and in her hand was a suspicious looking basket. Wych
Hazel set down her empty tumbler.
'My dear Mr. Falkirk, I was beginning to be concerned about
you!'
'What are you going to do with that basket, Miss Hazel?'
'Take it along, sir.'
'On your lap, I suppose!'
'Mr. Falkirk, the accuracy of your judgment is unparalleled.
Is that our coach at the door?'
'My dear, you will find plenty of cats at Chickaree,' said her
guardian, looking annoyed.
'Yes, sir--' said the young lady meekly, dropping her veil and
fitting on her gloves.
'All right, sir,' said the landlord appearing at the door.
'Roughish road, Mr. Falkirk--and t'other gents not enough
patience to divide among 'em and go half round--'
How much patience Mr. Falkirk carried to the general stock
does not appear. But presently, lifting one corner of her
basket lid, Wych Hazel drew forth a radiant spray of roses,
and laid them penitently upon the averted line of her
guardian's coatsleeve.
'Where did you get that?' he said. 'You had better put it in
the basket, my dear; it will stand a better chance to keep
fresh.'
'Do you prefer pinks, sir?--or here are bachelor's buttons--'
'They seem rather common things to me,' said Mr. Falkirk
slowly, yet with a somewhat pacified brow. There was no kitten
in the basket!
'I hadn't the heart to bring puss, as we are going to
Catskill,' whispered Miss Hazel.
'We!' ejaculated Mr. Falkirk.
'Nominative case, first person plural, sir.'
'And what's the definition of an adverb?'
'Something which qualifies your suffering--_n'est-ce pas_, Mr.
Falkirk?'
'Certainly, by its primary action upon your doing, Miss Hazel.
We are going to Chickaree.'
To which statement Miss Hazel for the present made no reply.
She retreated to the depths of her own corner and the brown
veil; fingering her roses now and then, and (apparently)
making endless mental 'studies' of the wayside. The coach
jogged lumberingly on: there was no relief to the tiresomeness
of the way. It was a long morning. Dusty and weary, the coach-
load was set down at last at another country inn; by the side
of a little river which had well filled its banks. The
travellers were not, it must be noted, upon any of the great
highways of passage, but had taken a cut across country, over
some of the spurs of the Catskill; where a railroad was not.
Mr. Falkirk brought his charge into the 'Ladies' parlour,' and
spoke in a tone of irritated business.
'This is Hadyn's Dam. You can have rest and dinner now.'